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Ugly Dude Game

This chick gets to the heart of what it takes for an ugly dude to succeed in the dating market.

uglydudegame

I couldn’t have said it better. Most chicks forget about ugly dudes before they’ve even approached to solicit sexyuglytime. But this girl remembered her ugly dude who treated her like she was the leper begging for scraps of his twisted staff.

This is Game 101, optimized for the ugly dude.

  • Flip the script. Reorient the mate evaluation frame so that she is chasing you, rather than you acceding to following the preconfigured path of “man chase woman”.
  • Assume the sale. Most ugly men give up before they’ve tried. If you’re an ugly dude, you’ve gotta get in the game, and that means willfully, some would say irrationally, shelving your self-doubt and diving in balls-first under the working assumption that you’ve got what girls want….ejaculytes!
  • DISQUALIFY. This one is a biggie. CREAM MAGIC. Ugly dudes (and most normal looking men) find reasons, real or not, to disqualify THEMSELVES. Instead, disqualify the girl. Be the ugly dude who acts like the girl is, succinctly, the ugly one in the courtship dynamic. This will confuse and torment her (in an arousing way), and she’ll respond with exorbitant efforts to reaffirm her self-perception and win the ugly dude’s approval. As an ugly dude, he should never give it. (Once he gives it, it’s game over. He should instead forever hint that one day, maybe real soon now, he’ll crack and cherish her for the angel she is.)

You can classify the above rules as psychological ju jizzsu which exploits a vulnerability in the female mate assessment algorithm: their desire for a man who has lots of romantic options. Women don’t have teleportation or time machines that can zoom them into a prospective lover’s bedroom for a complete examination of his sexual history. So instead women have to rely on male SMV cues, some subtle some not, which indicate to her hindbrain’s satisfaction that the man making his move on her has no problem jettisoning her early on for less intransigent pussy. The ugly man who mimics those male SMV-boosting cues can actually wield MORE power over a woman’s imagination than can a decent-looking man, because she’ll be curious about what must certainly be the ugly dude’s awesome super magnetic charisma with apparently limitless power to overcome his rough mug.

Now, it’d be silly to claim that, all else equal, handsomeness isn’t preferable to ugliness. But it’d be just as silly to assert that ugly dudes are shit outta luck. Not so. Unlike ugly women who suffer massive and deal-killing romantic penalties in the hunt for an acceptable mate, ugly dudes aren’t locked out of the romance market if they have that je ne sais cocky that women love.

Ugly Dude Game: treat women like ugly dudes. It won’t work every time, nor most of the time, maybe not even a fraction of the time. But it’ll work far more often than Ugly Dude No-Game, which is putting the pussy on a pedestal without having compensatory handsomeness as a safeguard to get laid by slutty 6s and 7s.

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A reader provides a field pic of a fat man with a skinny girl, adding,

Photo taken at the grocery store (heh).

Didn’t get her face but a 7.5. Slim little thing  Well dressed. Boyfriend was a slob. Perfect proof confidence matters.

fatguyskinnygirl

Yes, confidence matters for men. (Not so much for women. A confident fat girl will still be a romantic loser.) A confident fat man — whether his confidence is an irrational act of willpower or a rational self-appraisal based on his compensating sexy attributes like charisma, money, humor, or outcome independent ZFG jerkboy attitude — will have little trouble scoring a cute lithesome thing.

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Trump recently delivered an “apology” that stands out as a pristine demonstration of an alpha male using vulnerability game without giving away too much testicular credibility.

Sometimes in the heat of the moment you don’t choose the right words. I’ve done that and, believe it or not, I regret it.

This is a classic alpha male apology. So much reframing goodness.

“heat of the moment” = “I’m a passionate untamed man”

“don’t choose the right words” = “the substance of what I said is essentially correct”

“I regret it” = “I’m not apologizing to you; I’m apologizing to myself”

All of it delivered with a cheeky, insouciant self-knowing smirkitude that yields no ground to his enemies, and ends with a sincere, reassuring, intimacy-building promise.

Trump just did the equivalent of blowing through a girl’s player-wary anti-slut defense and making himself attainable.

Trump is a master of improvisation. He connects with the people. His Game is tight. He will win in November and, I’m going on record here, it won’t be close.

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Every once in a while one sees the exceptional couple who together smash realtrue stereotypes. I saw one such recently. A very striking, tall and slender blonde White woman kissing her asian boyfriend adieu. I’ve seen White woman-asian man couples before, but usually the woman was nothing to write home about, which is how this particular couple managed to jot a tittle in my limbic ledger.

No one wants asian guy? Not her. She wants asian guy!

Naturally my forensic Eye of Shivron whirred into gear to assess this violation of the cosmic biomechanic laws. The asian guy wasn’t a Keanuiac half-breed. Full-blooded from slope to slant. He did have some physical advantages which set himself apart from the usual ant people test-cheating hordes. He was average height (which adjusted to asian standards meant he was tall). He dressed like an A&F frat bro: crisp knit shirt, plaid shorts and sockless docksiders. Muscle-wise, also average (which again adjusted to asian standards meant he was buff). Facially, inoffensive enough to make a few asian-american girls rethink their opposition to dating inside the nippon tribe. Jawline was acceptably uncucked.

All in all, he looked completely Americanized (I’d guessed he was Japanese-American, but could easily have been Korean). Still, his alabaster lady was a White hard HB8 topping to a model-esque 5’9″ or so. And clearly, unmistakably, in love with him. (When he turned to leave her behind, I caught her staring longingly at his retreating figure for a few seconds. Those rovebirds!)

He could’ve been loaded, sure, but I think it was something else. Something that this man —

Dennis “pussy magnet” Kucinich

the fairy godmother of manlets, has similarly exhibited in photos with his hotter, tighter, younger wife who is at least three standard deviations out of his league (if we define “league” solely by the draw of a man’s physical appearance).

Wondering what that something is which our SWAG roverboy had? Look at these Kucinich pics and see if you can figure it out:

kucinich1

kucinich2

kucinich3

You’d be hard-pressed to burden a man with more physical and ideological shortcomings than Dennis “The Kuntroller” Kucinich — short, weird looking, skinny, old, liberal kook — yet here he is married to a genuine red-headed hottie. His unicorn horn stands taller than many nü-Aryan shitlords’ war pikes.

Yet the photos of him with his beauty reveal his secret. Notice anything missing?

That’s right, NO HOVERHAND.

Kucinich holds his lady tight and right, drawing her into him and pressing her flesh into his feeble old mannery that does not even lift. Notice too he doesn’t lean into her; if anyone’s leaning adoringly, it’s her.

Kucinich’s alpha male body language transmits a loud and clear message: “I take complete ownership of my woman”.

Ownership, aka men’s prerogative, is a vital ingredient in romantic relationships. Feminists and manlets swoon with hysteria, but TruGirls love it when a man doesn’t mince his meat. Declaring ownership of your woman, especially in public, is a powerful signal not only to other women that you have the mysterious “he’s got it” goods, but also a reminder to your beloved that you don’t live in apprehension that she’ll someday soon withdraw her love. Body language ownership is the opposite of the appeasement and fearfulness that the hoverhand betrays of a man’s character.

Returning to our SWAG, that’s what he had. In spades. During the kiss goodbye, he drew her by the waist into his chest and squeezed her ass in full view of NSA surveillance cameras. He winked at her before turning to depart, and didn’t look back to assure she was still tailing him with her gaze. There was no hoverhand, no leaning, no awkward pigeon footing, and no tender salivary pecks and canoodles so common among beta males who think a woman’s bosom is a security pillow to nestle their weary cuckheads.

Lesson of the lovingkindness: The right attitude and an unflinching assgrab will more than compensate for a man’s physical imperfections. If only more men would learn this lesson instead of projecting the contours of their visual-centric desire onto women.

PS Anecdotally, I don’t feel nearly as much aesthetic repulsion to WW-AM couples as I do to mudsharks. Maybe my hindbrain swiftly calculates that the genetic distance, physically, behaviorally, and mentally, between a White woman and a northeast asian man is a relatively small one set against the Saharan expanse between a White woman and a black man, and therefore my disgust reflex is comparatively dampened with the sight of the former. One is taking a piss in the White gene pool while the other is dropping a steaming deuce in it. Alternately, it could be that the extreme rarity of the former makes it more of a curiosity to me, and thus less noxious, while the relatively higher frequency and, especially, propaganda-fueled essence of the mudsharkers provokes a stronger emotional response (tied up as these coal burning couples inevitably are with their anti-White Narrative sponsorship).

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Scott Adams seems to think so.

Cartoonist-turned-pundit Scott Adams, of Dilbert fame, told Breitbart News in an interview on Sunday that the mysterious “Godzilla” of persuasion, to whom he ascribes Hillary Clinton’s polling success, is behavioral psychologist Robert Cialdini.

Cialdini, who refers to himself as the “Godfather of Influence,” is a professor and bestselling author who specializes in the art — or, perhaps, the science — of persuasion. In 2012, he was part of a “dream team” of behavioral psychologists that advised President Barack Obama’s re-election campaign, and helped propel that effort to victory despite slow economic growth, high unemployment, turmoil in world affairs, new terror attacks, and a motivated (though IRS-crippled) Tea Party opposition. […]

Adams told Breitbart News that he believes that Cialdini may have sat out the Democratic Party primary — or perhaps worked for Sen. Bernie Sanders — then joined the Clinton effort once it became clear she would be the party’s nominee.

While Trump had been more effective at using persuasion techniques, he said, “the Clinton persuasion game went from non-existent, which I reported on for months, to solid-gold, weapons-grade, almost instantly, as soon as Bernie Sanders dropped out.”

Sanders had been outperforming expectations, and Clinton had been underperforming expectations. “Wherever you see somebody exceed expectations by that much, either they are a persuader, like Trump is, or they have somebody helping them,” Adams concluded. […]

Adams explained: “Clinton stopped talking about her boring policies, and details, and her experience, and she went to pure persuasion. She went to the bigger scare,” which was the image of Donald Trump with his finger on the nuclear button.

FYI, this confirms my suspicion that Scott Adams is a reader of Game websites, and has probably stopped by the Chateau for a visit or ten. Robert Cialdini is an intellectual father of early Game principles that have withstood the test of time, (a substantial body of Mystery’s and Tyler Durden’s work and in-field experimentation exploited Cialdini’s knowledge from his book Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion).

I won’t put too fine a point on it: If Cialdini is now working for TheCunt, like he did for the Gay Mulatto, then The Trumpening is imperiled. Game is an awesomely powerful seduction tool, whether used to bed women or bed voters, and Cialdini would be a presumed master of the craft. I’ve no doubt that his input could very well have been responsible for recently shifting the polls so dramatically in TheCunt’s favor in such a short time. Game isn’t called accelerated seduction for nothing.

Trump is himself no slouch in the Game department, but he has a tendency to get mired in the thickets of interpersonal affront, and can be sloppy about message discipline. Trump needs to nail down his state control. These are the classic flaws of The Natural, btw, so I’m not surprised by their evidence in Trump whose biography provides ample evidence that he is a natural shitlord, aka the social hub alpha male who did well with the ladies from the get-go.

Trump’s strong character suits are an earthy humor and an honest, straight-shooting conversationalist style. These are big pluses that nonetheless can be easily twisted by the media hate machine into meanings completely at odds with what Trump intended to convey. We see that happening more now, as expert persuasion artists like Cialdini are beginning to inform the globalists how to effectively counter Trump’s strengths.

Trump has to know that the foes he is battling now are not trifling betas like ¡Jeb! or Rubio or spergy try-hards like Cruz or shell-shocked cuckservatives who just can’t even. He is up against the most lethal psy ops campaign I believe we will witness in our lifetimes. (Because if it gets any more lethal than it already is, the rhetoric will yield to hot lead).

Cialdini and the persuasion techniques that he and others have written extensively on may very well have been a lynchpin in the Gay Mulatto’s election wins. Game is all too powerful. It frightens manlet newbs, cucks, tradcons, and feminists for good reason: it’s a refutation of mortal MUH GENTEEL CONSTITUTIONAL PRINCIPLES and MUH SEX EQUALISM, replaced by the immortal God of Biomechanics.

If Cialdini has now brought the accumulated knowledge of the Game community to Hillary’s campaign operations, it bodes ominous for a smooth Trump Train ride to victory. Although it would serve as a jarring confirmation of Game principles and stroke my already tumescent ego to greater heights, it saddens me to think Game forefathers may have vaulted Obama (& perhaps TheCunt?) to the Presidency. Sadden, because those Game principles are rightly the property of the alt-right and the sundry shitlords who are currently engaged in a winning meme war against a century-old enemy drunk on entrenched power.

Some shiv-righters in this fight may not like it, but those tail-blazing original PUAs were far more shitlord than shitlib, in practice if not in their personal politics or their dress code. You have to be to have bucked the reigning equalism ideology and feminist fuggernaut so flamboyantly, and to take what you want without politely asking for it first.

This is why the alt-right needs to reclaim Game for its movement. They are the natural inheritors of it, and they prove that daily as gleeful practitioners of Game tactics (whether they realize it or not) in their rhetorical slash and burn of decades-old shitlibboleths. TheCunt may have put together a “dream team” of seduction experts, but even a player with tight Game can be defeated in the field. You either have tighter Game than him, or a stone cold taste for sadistic — some might say un-Christian — mockery.

Hillary herself is no threat. A sickly, black-hearted, corrupt old lady who can’t finish a sentence without lying and whose Parkinson’s has robbed her of the ability to think on her feet away from a teleprompter can be cowed into submission by a mighty Trump blow. Those puppetmasters who surround her are the real threat; notice how Hillary has faded from making news herself, as psy ops surrogates do all the bidding of Cialdini & Co. Trump’s real fight is with them; Hillary is merely their shell entity, their cipher.

Knowing this, Trump has to take the Game to them. This means more self-discipline than maybe he is comfortable undertaking. But the prize is great — the political equivalent of bedding an HB10 — and I’m confident that Trump’s love of winning beautiful women, and beautiful voters, will convince him to sharpen his shiv.

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A few readers have asked, if male confidence is so crucial to sub-cortically triggering arousal in women, how does a habitually low-confidence man go about locating a hidden reservoir of confidence and ushering it to the surface for exhibition, where it may be appreciated by women?

This is a great question, and the answer is less automatically glib than you may think. Sure, getting good at some objective pursuit will boost your confidence major, and that will positively affect how women rank your capacity to deliver them id-shaped pleasure. But what do you do if you don’t get sufficiently good at your chosen pursuit to stand above other men doing the same? What if achievement in your pursuit isn’t particularly valued by women? What if circumstances conspire in the wrong way to diminish the impact of your achievements on distaff vajflap?

That’s where proactive self-confidence stimulation helps to improve your seek-to-meet and meet-to-meat ratio.

Feeling self-confident from nothing but an inner emanation of willed empowerment is accomplished via lots of mind-body feedback loops. Reader buildthewall16 visualizes one such positive feedback loop.

alpha body language and behavior summed up in one sentence:

act like you are the star of the #1 reality show of all time: cameras following you around and millions watching it because you are so damn interesting.

So many men stumble before they even give themselves a fighting chance because they flood their brains with negativity to the point where they’re more comfortable wallowing in self-pity than strutting in self-confidence. Mentally focusing to resist the comfort zone of inaction and instead lodging, piecemeal or wholesale, irrationally exuberant thoughts of prowess and domination WILL, over time, manifest in your demeanor around women. If you think highly of yourself, the women will come.

It’s a cognitive trick that pays dividends, and in the zero sum mating market even small dividends allocated on a temporary schedule can mean the difference between incel and in-belles.

This in mind (heh), here’s a brain hack I use to boost my self-perception into the strutosphere: I imagine I’ve committed horrible crimes. It’s not true (mostly) and the imagining could be used as evidence of a nascent psychopathy (mostly), but if I think it enough and think it during those times I’m out in public (as if hiding something from the world) it really does infuse me with a devilish invincibility and the sense that my temper could flare suddenly, and I often will discover well after the fact that a shit-eating grin had found its way across my thugmug.

Chicks somehow pick up on my glowing sinner state and react, as is the wont of the jerkboy-loving sex, agreeably to my sly guy eye jive. Try picturing yourself in the role of the (lady)killer on the run and see if it doesn’t work for you as well.

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Memory Loss Game

I remember reading a long time ago a story in a local magazine about a young man who had been in a bad car accident and sustained bouts of memory loss from it. I wish I could find a link or a publishing date/name, because the article was astounding confirmation, in a roundabout way, of the effectiveness of Game. (An association I hadn’t made at the time reading it, but upon recalling the article realized it was there.)

Buried in the middle of a winding bio about the car-struck man was a funny aside he admitted regarding his post-accident dating life. Paraphrasing, he said that he was dating more girls than before his accident, and it surprised him because he kept forgetting their names, faces, and the circumstances in which they met. He said a girl would call or text him (this was long enough ago that calling was still a thing) and he would have to ask her name and how they hit it off. If he initiated the follow-up call or text, he’d scan his phone for newly added numbers (which sometimes had the girl’s accompanying name entered as “BAR X GIRL”), and have to ask the girl to remind him where, when and how they met.

Hilariously, he said that this ordeal became so taxing that occasionally he’d just come right out and say “I have you as BAR X GIRL in my phone. I have memory loss from an accident, could you tell me if you were the girl I met at BAR X?”

His eureka moment came when, after months stumbling through his strange new memory-less dating landscape, he realized his inability to remember girls’ names or important facts about them had no effect on his love life. If anything, he said his dance card was more full than ever. He said girls would be offended at first by what they thought was his lack of consideration for their worth, but wind up making out with him at the end of the night anyway. Crucially, he mentioned he rarely told girls about his accident because he didn’t want his dates turning into sexless sympathy hugs. He’d just say he forgot this or that about the girls, and carry on as if nothing was amiss between them.

The lesson is an ancient one: chicks dig men who act like they have a surfeit of snapper options. And one way to signal your desirability to many women is to sometimes forget their names and favorite colors.

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